


Whine, Whine, Whine

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Other, Pale Porn, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Post-Sburb/Sgrub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4012027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's kind of shitty to be dropped someplace random, since you can't see and all. For all you know, someone might kidnap you in broad.... Whatever time it is. Who knows what they'd do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whine, Whine, Whine

Y'know, despite what Karkat might say, you don’t honestly complain all that much. All things considered, you’re a fucking master at not whining your ass off, unlike a certain group of goddamn assholes who do nothing but. You’re not a very complain-y person. You are, in fact, the opposite.

And so when you say that you’re cussing someone out, you mean business. Some fucking bulgedrip apparently saw you wandering around totally blind, ‘looking’ for Aradia, and thought “hey, I should kidnap this guy”. What the fuck? You’re not even sure which way you’re going, and it’s got you more than a little seasick, but that doesn’t stop you from screaming every explicative in the known and unknown universes at whoever they are. You swear to fuck if this is Aradia playing some joke on you you’re gonna flip every kind of shit.

Oh thank god they’re putting you down. You fall into the seat (shut up, it’s hard to get your bearings when you’re newly blind and being manhandled all over the fucking place) and fling a hand forward to grab at whomever might be there. You grab a shirt, and yank the person in it forward, trying to look threatening when you have no teeth and no powers and are honestly more than a little freaked out; like yeah, you can’t  _die_  but who knows what can happen? Maybe someone could torture you for all of eternity and never actually kill you? That’s a likely thing, considering your luck.

“Who are you and why the fuck am I here?” You manage not to squeak, if only barely. “You’d better let me the fuck out or your sorry excuse for an afterlife is so goddamn over.”

They’re silent, still, perfectly, eerily silent, as they take your hands and lift them to their head. You grope around and find their horns, spiraling up in tight twists; Makara. Your hands work though the tangled mess of hair they apparently call a hairdo, down to their face. They flinch a little when you smear the paint, but don’t pull all the way back. They’re still silent, too, which pisses you off until you get to their mouth and feel the stitches.

“K… Kurloz, right?” You ask, hands on his cheeks. He nods, smiles. “What the fuck am I doing here? Wait, fuck, you can’t answer because you decided to stitch your mouth shut  _before_  kidnapping me. Fucking amazing, this is spectacular.” You groan, fall back on the couch and wipe your hands on it (even after you hear a small grumble).

It’s silent for a few minutes, until you hear some quick tapping and a computerized voice read out. “You looked sad so I brought you here to clean you up so you would stop looking so motherfucking sad and shit.” There’s a little more tapping. “Ain’t meant to scare you you can leave if you want.”

“Clean me up? I’m fine. If I need any help AA will help me. I just have to be outside to  _find_  her and it’ll be fine.” You hiss the last word, your nose crinkling in distaste. “What made you decide to be some fucking savior, anyway?”

The couch shifts next to you and you assume he’s sitting there now, since his tapping noises are next to you. The voice reads: “Seen you wander a long time and I would a asked but you weren’t still enough to let me and I ain’t seen that rust girl in a while sides that and you look all tense and shit and it’s got a wicked brother worried some.”

After taking a few, slow, breaths, you manage to sit up again and push your ass to the back of your seat, because at least you can sit kind of upright and not just lay there like a dead squeakbeast on a meowbeast’s plate. Kurloz is tapping away, so you just stay quiet, trying to reach out with whatever might be left of your powers and feel around his hive. Which, you know already, is pointless. You pretty much blew a fuse and since you don’t have a spare  _brain_ , you fucking moron, you’re kind of screwed.

You’ve actually managed to relax a little by the time he plays the text read out. “I ain’t bout a hurt you.” You sit up a little straighter, like you can look more threatening. He’s probably giant like Gamzee, so that’s more for your ego than for anything else. “Just that when a brother looks on someone so down like yourself it makes him fucking sad and makes him want to help is all but you can leave if you want I can let you out and shit. Not that you need help or whatever though just makes me wanna do something cause you got walked into trees so much and all.”

Fuck, he saw that. “Whatever. AA isn’t here anyway, and it isn’t like I’m late for anything.” You scratch at your hair for a second; wow, when did all that blood get matted in it? “I can hang out, but if you get all preachy or try and 'take care of me’ like I’m fucking useless I’ll find a way to double kill you.”

“Colon oh parentheses.” The voice reads, before a quick tapping that lasts a few seconds. “Sorry bout that course I’m not bout a treat no motherfucker like a grub or nothing.”

You try to kick your legs and discover the coffee table with your shins, but cover it up by just putting your feet up on it. “Whatever.”

Kurloz taps a little, then taps a lot pretty fast and drops his phone, you assume, on the table. You just listen to your own breathing, because of course he’s silent when he breathes too. Or maybe he doesn’t breathe at all? Is that even a thing you need to do anymore? Do you honestly count as dead, on that note? You feel pretty dead. And you guess you’d have been kicked out of the bubbles by some weird temporal-astral-peacekeeping magic by now if you weren’t.

Wait, what are those footsteps?

That’s rude, you think, leaving a guest you kidnapped to sit alone on your couch without even turning the tube on. You mean, no, you can’t watch it or even fell it’s shape with your psionics or whatever. But it would be nice to hear something other than soft footsteps and your wheezy breathing. Maybe he’s one of those flower trolls who don’t have T.V. because they’re above modern tech even though they have a grubPhone8. A shitclown flowertroll.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he lands on the sofa next to you again, but he pats your cheek and you relax again, if only just. His hand lingers, and then the other one is there too, along with a wet cloth. It takes you a moment but when you get it, your face gets hot and you frown: he’s cleaning you. Literally cleaning you up.

What a fucking  _jackass_.

For once, though, he’s not silent, humming this low tune that you can’t place, not that you’re a music aficionado or whatever. You let him, if only because it feels nice to not have shit caked on your face. He’s really careful, not just around your eye area but everywhere, slow and thorough and careful, never applying much pressure but just working the gunk away little by little, and the humming and how careful he is has you halfway to sleep before he’s even finished. Your hair is a little more of a problem, but he doesn’t give up (or let you squirm out of his reach), and eventually he can run his fingers through it and not get them caught on some matted lump of…. stuff. Probably a lot of different things you don’t want to think about, because he’s still finger-combing your hair, slow and smooth.

When he settles in next to you proper, his shoulder touching yours and his back to the seat, you’re leaning into his hand because hey, sue you, it’s nice to have someone pet you, okay? You’ll be embarrassed that you lean on his shoulder later, when he’s not tracing the bases of your horns with his fingertips and it doesn’t feel really fucking amazing.

It’s almost flush, almost, if he were using a little claw or pressing a bit harder you’d probably pop a wiggly and ask him to deal with it, too, with those too-careful touches you’re starting to figure out, but he’s gentle. He’s so, so gentle, and after another moment of your brain lagging like there’s a bad connection, you get it.

This is  _pale_.

You want to be scandalized, but you’re really not. It’s mostly just _nice_  to have someone touch you pale, not even a hint of flush, no (stitched) lips trailing over your neck when you lean further into him and his other hand shifts to shuffle you into his lap. No teeth skirting your earlobe when his hands grip your shoulders and his thumbs press into the nape of your neck. No hips rolling up all hot and needy against you when he does press a tiny kiss to your cheek.

Not that you dislike any of that, Aradia’s great at lulling you into the calmest you can be before she works you back up, but it’s also nice to not have any of the working up happen. It’s just nice to breathe and relax and, when his hands twist around your horns again, purr a little. Just a little, nothing embarrassing like melting into a puddle like the palemates in those shitty dramas you used to flick through, just a slight, content sound.

A bit of dead chitin breaks off one of your smaller horns and you shudder, already feeling like a weight that had been pressing on the top of your head is lessened. He pauses when you shift, letting you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably across his lap, not even seeming to mind when you lean your face against his chest. Now you’re being embarrassing, your purrs louder and your face against his chest probably yellow because you’re working on wrapping yourself around him, but he doesn’t make any complaint-like noises.

He’s careful as ever as he continues peeling back dead layers of chitin, matching your own purr with one in his chest when you manage to stop clinging to him and just go limp. You forgot how it felt to have someone legitimately  _work_  on your horns, not just press their thumbs against the bases and kiss you so hard you can’t breathe. Not that you dislike that. You’re easy to please, pretty much any positive contact is fine with you if you’re not in a bad mood, but this is a different kind of nice, this is your skull feeling lighter and your horns feeling sensitive and everything feeling softer, muffled by the sound of Kurloz’s low purr.

Then he’s brushing the bits of gross dead stuff off your hair and going back to petting you, or, not petting, papping. Something like that, every now and then his hands will stop as they go down your back and press a few things into place and you’ll feel better off for it, but mostly he’s just gently touching you, keeping you lax against him.

“This isn’t what I thought would happen.” You murmur, speaking into his chest so low you can hardly tell if he might hear it. You’re not sure why, but talking seems like a good idea. It feels like the right thing to do. “When I died, I mean. I thought I’d just be dead. Gone. Poof. Unless some other shitbrain had the dead screaming at them, too, I guess. But not this. I was supposed to find a menial job and avoid becoming an engine to some ship, and die of old age, if I had any kind of luck. But then we played that stupid fucking game and I was too stupid to stop all of this.”

His palm cups the back of your head and you refuse to acknowledge that you’re crying. It’s not happening, and it’s not really weird because you just have empty sockets, either. Thank whatever powers that be that he put whatever was reading text out on the table, you don’t want to hear some computer tell you “shoosh” while you snot and drool on his shirt like a grub. Thank god he can’t talk. You don’t want to hear him tell you not to cry or whatever.

“I’ve seen them die so many times, in so many ways. I’m not even a Mage of Time, but I’ve seen them die. I’ve seen them all die, all of my friends, and it’s because of that game. It’s because of me.” You’re shaking, he paps your shoulder and you’re still shaking and crying but it’s better somehow. “I don’t think they can really win. I don’t think there’s a way to win that game.”

Thank god for his silence. He goes back to petting/papping you, chest thrumming with a louder purr, and you keep whimpering, not as many words as just sad, gross little noises. After a while, you stop, and your head feels cotton-full and heavy at once, but since he’s not making you leave and your legs aren’t totally cramped yet, you just keep laying against him, head turned to the side to have your cheek on his chest instead of your face in general.

After a few moments, you lift your hands up to feel at his face, a little more careful with his paint but only just, and he’s got this tiny smile on his lips, one that doesn’t go away when you feel at it. Weird fucking clown. Your arms fall back to your sides and you keep relaxing, feeling tired and worn out and empty all at once.

“Can I sleep on you?” You mutter, then a second later. “Tap twice for yes.”

He taps each of your shoulders, then goes back to his smooth petting. That’s good enough for you. It’s weird, going to sleep when everything is already dark, but it’s nice, too. No more worrying over how much light can leak into a given space or what you might wake up and see; nothing! Nothing at all, you don’t even have to think about sight. Which still really fucking sucks, but you’re learning to take the bad with the good. Even if the bad is possibly eternal unlife in a void filled with the mashed up memories of trolls you don’t know who lived in a different kind of totalitarian society from you, and the good is some weird pale fling with a troll that stitched his mouth shut and is kind of cheating on your dancestor with you, apparently. Unless they have this worked out.

And, Kurloz is pretty comfortable to sleep on, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so smart I decided to ship a blind character with a mute character, hahaha that wasn't a HUGE FUCKING PAIN IN THE ASS or anything  
> it worked out in the end at least. kinda.  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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